Our family in one moment
About Sunday lunches, three generations in one kitchen, and food that keeps us together
I think there are certain moments that define every family. Habits, traditions, ceremonies, celebrations, events, you name it. They all have a version of it.
In our case, most of this, if not all, revolves around food and around the kitchen. And we had one of those last Sunday.
On Saturday, my dad asked me if we should do "Pasta al forno" for lunch the next day. An immediate yes to a family staple that has been present in my life since I can remember, and that, to me, means Sunday, in a way that only a lasagna can surpass.
It's one of those Italian dishes that take hours to make, it usually involves more than one person to prepare, but everyone around is involved, cooking or not. It equates to exuberance, in flavour, quantity, and size. A big dish, served in big portions, with a big flavour, and no matter how full you are, you always want more. All this, followed by dessert, fruit, digestive liqueur, and of course, coffee. This is what an ideal Sunday looks like, to us.
If I had to summarise my family in a moment, it would be this one. My parents around the kitchen. My dad asking me to try the sauce. My partner and I taking care of things around the house, and our baby going in between naps, the playmat, and being carried around and snuggled by all of us at different times, or at the same time.
It was one of those moments when I feel that time stops. Someone hits pause, and everything stays still for a brief moment while I observe and take a mental snapshot. The moment that I appreciate that we've been doing this since I can remember. And the moment I realise that we all have moved to the next stages of our lives.
When my sister and I were kids, our family would spend some summers in Sicily, and it was the dynamic of those big Sunday lunches that stayed with me all these years. These are the most precious memories from those times, but also about our family and heritage.
The elders would cook, our parents would help them, and take care of us. We, the kids, would play around until it was time to eat.
My parents are now the age my Nonna, and my dad's aunts and uncles, were when we were kids. I am my parents' age when I was a kid at the exact time of these memories, and our son is now the youngest of the family. I cannot think of a more seamless and beautiful life transition than that. We are all passing the baton and assuming our places, as life keeps moving forward.
For me, these memories are not just about the delicious food, but everything that it represented. The time we spent together. The love they all poured into those dishes, and a way to keep close those who are no longer with us.
Those days would start early. Because we were visiting from abroad, we wanted to spend as much time as possible with my dad's aunts. We would be there around ten in the morning, just hanging around, before the rest of the family started arriving. Eleven, twelve, one, people would slowly start to show up. Hugs, kisses, presents, contributions to the table (because everyone always brought something: wine, desserts, fruits, sweets). At some point, usually around two, we were all finally together, and it was time to eat. From that moment, time didn't matter. A couple of hours would definitely pass, sometimes three, or more. Who knows? But also, who cares? We didn't.
After a good while, once all the eating was over, we would stay around, just hanging with the family, sometimes walking about the town, other times, watching TV together. We would be there until late afternoon, and many times, until the evening. Adults talking, kids running around. Family, all there, together.
I love those memories, and I treasure them.
Seeing my parents cooking on Sunday was one of those moments that made me very happy, grateful, and at peace, in a way that is hard to put into words, but it feels like many things collide.
The passing of time, generations moving forward, tradition being carried and passed down.
They cooked all morning. We ate around 2 pm. We enjoyed it, we got full, it was delicious. We loved it.
We had dessert, we had fruit, we had digestive liqueur, and, of course, we had coffee.
We sat down to watch a movie. We all fell asleep at different times. We stayed there until the evening. Family, all there together.
We do what we do; we will keep doing what we always have done. I will make sure that that's always the case, for as long as I can, hopefully, until it's my turn to take my parents' place, and a new wave of Emmis takes over their place in our traditions, all held by the same recipes and love, keeping us together.
